


First to Burn

by boltplum



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Bisexual Steve Harrington, Childhood Friends, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Love, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gay Billy Hargrove, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Panic Attacks, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prompt Fic, Slow Burn, more to be added later - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27429625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boltplum/pseuds/boltplum
Summary: Billy moves in next door on Steve's tenth birthday. They grow up thick as thieves, sharing everything. When they become old enough to date...they turn to one another for practice.-“Since it’s us. Since I’m not Tina, and you’re not--you’re just you. It doesn’t count if we--if we practice.” Billy turns to face him, even though Steve can’t really make out his face yet in the dark. “Right?”Steve's heart rate picks up. “Right. Yeah, that’s right.”
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 62
Kudos: 252





	1. part i: some kids

**Author's Note:**

> I saw [this post](https://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com/post/634087916910624768) and went absolutely feral.
> 
> I'll try to update at least once a week.

The tiny blond boy with the too-big tee shirt and nice mom moves in next door on Steve’s tenth birthday. He knows the boy’s mom is nice because she smiles a lot and pats the boy’s head and spins him around before chasing him around the back of the house.

Steve could see the boy’s backyard from his bedroom window. But he’s out front watering the rose bushes and he has to rake up the leaves next and he’s going nuts watching the boy’s parents bring in boxes. He wants to know more about the boy who just moved in. Wants to know if they can be friends, because Tommy got mad and deflated his best basketball last week and so they aren’t friends anymore.

His mom sends him next door with a plate of cookies that takes forty minutes to make, start to finish. His chores coincidentally take forty minutes to wrap up.

The cookies are snickerdoodle and gingersnap and chocolate-chip. His mom is very good at making cookies. She always wins the prize for best holiday basket at the town hall Christmas party. Dad does not eat her cookies because he has to watch his waist line or something.

Steve races next door the minute he’s stacked the cookies on a plate. He’s rung the doorbell twice and knocked four times before the door finally opens. The dad stands there, staring down with a smile at Steve like he said a joke he hasn’t even thought of yet. Maybe Steve just really does have a funny face like Carol likes to say he does. He frowns.

“Well hello, who’s this?” the man asks, and rubs his chin. “Cookies for me?”

Steve swallows, lowers the plate a little before holding it higher. He stares at the man’s stomach because he’s nervous and he can’t do the thing his dad always tells him to do. To buck up and meet the eyes of those you want to impress.

The man turns around and calls back inside the house. Says, “Sal, some kid’s welcoming us to the neighborhood!”

Steve steels himself. Puts on his best smile and fights his own nerves down to drag his eyes up to the man--and then the woman beside him. The nice mom from before, with her long, wavy blonde hair and clear blue eyes.

She blinks and takes the plate of cookies from him. She picks one up and before Steve can warn her they’re still hot, she’s bitten one in half.

“Oh, sweetie pie,” she says, “these are delicious. Did you make these yourself?”

Her eyes find his and he nods. Then he shakes his head no. Then he turns quickly to point at his house, his mom on the front stoop. She waves with a smile.

“Hello neighbor!” she calls.

“See, Neil. This neighborhood is nice,” the woman says. 

The man stares at Steve’s mom before going back inside the house.

“Billy!” the man yells, and then Steve hears hurried steps. Running. Then it’s the boy Steve wanted so badly to meet, out of breath and lifting an eyebrow.

“Mom?”

“Billy, our neighbors made these cookies just for us. Come say thank you.”

Billy walks forward, says, “I’m Billy,” and into the light spilling in from where Steve stands on the porch. He’s got at least five inches on the other boy. Billy says, “Thanks. Who are you?”

“You’re so welcome! You know, snickerdoodle’s my favorite. My mom always makes them. At least once every month! Twice in my birthday month! I’m Steve--uh. Welcome? Are you new here? Will you be going to Hawkins--”

Billy stares and stares at him. Makes a face that tells Steve he’s being weird. Being funny. He smiles and laughs, and knows he sounds nervous.

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you boys go play out back?” The plate of cookies is handed off to her son, who looks like he doesn’t know what they are.

Billy’s mom leans out the door and starts toward where their driveways meet. Starts talking to Steve’s mom.

“They’re really good,” Steve says, and grabs a snickerdoodle. Eats it in two bites.

“Your mouth is huge,” Billy tells him. “Do you like baseball?”

“Not really.” But when Steve follows Billy inside, and when the front door is shut, he sees a baseball bat leaning against the inside hall.

“Me either.” Billy takes a snickerdoodle and eats it in smaller bites. Catches all the crumbs. Hums when he’s finished. “What about basketball?”

Steve lights up, says, “Yeah!”

Billy sets the cookies in the kitchen. Grabs two more and hands one off to Steve when they get to the backyard. There’s a hoop that wasn’t there the day before.

His basketball isn’t new, but it’s clearly well used. He’s not just showing off. Steve decides he likes Billy’s house.

“Want to be friends?” Steve asks Billy, already having decided. But he knows it’s nice to ask first.

Billy casts a look toward his father, who’s grumbling while he decides where to put what near the back of the garage. Through its open door, Steve can see his and Billy’s moms still talking.

“Depends.”

“On what?”

Billy shrugs and tosses the basketball at the hoop. Sinks it in one.

“First to five?”

"Sure." Steve dribbles and dodges and scores a point. "It's my birthday, you know."

"Oh. Happy birthday." Billy scores the next. "I won't go easy on you."

Steve pouts and plays. Plays his hardest. Billy's a lot better at basketball than all the rest of his friends.

Billy wins.


	2. part ii: with not on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot twist, I wrote the next 7k after posting the first chapter earlier tonight.

Tommy likes Billy but Billy doesn’t like Tommy. Calls him a nerd until Tommy tries to prove him wrong at every bend in the road. Jumped off one of the lower cliffs lining the quarry and broke his arm last summer because Billy called him a coward. Calls him a loser because Tommy is afraid when Carol kisses him for the first time and he’s never kissed anyone.

That’s how Steve first gets the idea. It’s a day after his thirteenth birthday. Tina asked him to the Snow Ball last week even though it’s still months away and Steve sweats every time he thinks about it. Tina will want to dance with him. He doesn’t know how to dance.

He hasn’t told anyone about it yet.

Until now.

“Seriously?” Tommy asks, then proceeds to warn Steve that Tina will want to kiss him. So he better kiss her real good.

“Kiss her like a woman wants to be kissed,” Tommy says.

To which Billy, sandwiched between Steve and Tommy on the couch in the Harringtons’ new basement, says, “She’s thirteen, not a woman.”

He grabs another snickerdoodle and breaks it in half, offering one part to Steve before chomping down the other.

“Same thing!”

“Is not. She’s a kid.”

“So are we,” Steve supplies. “But Carol kissed Tommy last week and he didn’t know what to do. He knows how it works now.”

“Bullshit, Carol didn’t kiss you,” Billy says, leaping forward. He glares at Tommy. “I—”

“You what?” Tommy challenges. “I know you like her but we’re going steady now.”

“I don’t like Carol,” Billy snarls more than says.

Steve holds up his hands. “Uh.”

“I bet you haven’t ever kissed anyone, not even a _girl_.”

“You calling me gay, Hagan?”

“So what if I am? I’ve never seen you kiss any girls. You’re a rainbow loving—”

After that, Steve has to pull Billy off Tommy and they both get sent home.

Billy shows back up around midnight, after sneaking out to throw pebbles at Steve’s bedroom window. Ever since Steve’s family moved to Loch Nora, Billy’s spent most nights sneaking over.

Steve loves when he sleeps over. Billy’s his best friend. He knows Billy and his dad don’t get along a lot of the time, especially since the divorce, so he’s happy that Billy comes to him to get away.

Steve hops up and pushes his window open. Holds out his arm for Billy to grab when he’s on the roof beside his window. Billy and Steve have never missed the jump. Steve doesn’t like to think about what would happen if they ever did.

Billy jumps. Steve catches him.

Hauls him inside and quiets his own laughter as Billy shuts the window for him. Then Billy turns and lands a playful punch to his cheek. Light, a tap of his knuckles. He grins and flops back on Steve’s bed, burrowing into the fluff of blankets he’d as good as made after dinner.

“You hungry?” Steve asks him as he grabs up his walkman and shoves at Billy’s side to get him to scoot over.

He pulls a knee up and hands Billy the headphones. Billy holds them stretched out, one ear turned out a little so they can lean their heads together and listen to the same songs. It’s one of Steve’s favorite things to do.

“Not really.”

Steve waits for three songs to finish before he nods, hands over the walkman, and heads downstairs. Not really means no dinner. Really hungry is bad. Like haven’t eaten all day bad. Already ate means he actually did.

He grabs two slices of bread, slaps on some mayonnaise, and uses half a pack of bologna for a sandwich. Then he grabs a Tab and a beer—because Billy likes beer and Steve’s dad never notices when they go missing.

His parents’ room is dark.

Billy grins when he’s back with the beer and food. He eats the sandwich in a few bites. Steve holds a pillow up so Billy can pop the tabs on the cans quietly. Billy sets the Tab down and sips at the beer, before handing it to Steve.

“Try it, Harrington.”

Steve considers it. He smells the top. It’s bitter and kind of stale smelling. He takes a sip and makes a face. Billy snorts.

“It gets better,” he says as Steve keeps sipping.

He’s not really a fan for the first thirty minutes. He thinks he’s feeling whatever he’s supposed to after that and decides maybe beer tastes kind of good. Billy keeps laughing now and then, almost to himself. His lashes are dark and long and Steve falls asleep beside his friend feeling safe. Comforted.

\--

Steve is shaken awake. It’s gentle. Nothing quick about it. The room is dark and his mouth tastes gross. Billy hovers over him.

“Move over, you’re hogging the blankets.”

Steve says, “Oh,” and gets moving. Lifts his legs and watches Billy throw his shirt and his pants off before climbing back in. He shivers before he settles. Yawns.

Steve reaches forward and pokes the roof of his mouth. Billy gags and coughs and growls something unintelligible before full on tackling Steve beneath the covers. He wrestles Steve breathless.

Billy claps a hand over Steve’s mouth when the swearing turns to laughing.

“Shut it or your folks will come in here and kick me out.” But when Steve nods his assent and Billy takes his hand away, Billy thinks a good end to the conversation is to jab him a final time in the ribs.

Steve says, “Goddammit,” and knees Billy. Maybe too hard. Billy curls forward and falls strangely quiet. “Shit. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Are you okay? Billy, you alright?”

Billy turns his face into the pillow. Says a muffled, “Asshole,” and Steve sighs his relief.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “But you kinda deserved it.”

Billy turns his face only enough that Steve can see him roll his eyes.

“Lame.” He closes his eyes. “Hey, you think Tommy was telling the truth earlier?”

“What about? Carol? Yeah. Carol’s been into Tommy forever.”

“It’s gross.”

Steve shrugs. “I think it’s kind of nice.”

Billy burrows in further to the blankets, inches closer until his forehead is plastered to Steve’s shoulder. “She’ll break his heart.”

“Why d’you think that?”

“Girls leave. When they don’t love you anymore they leave. So why bother loving them first?”

“Billy…”

“I’m drunk, Steve,” he explains. Steve believes him.

“Were you?”

“Was I what?”

“Lying...or I guess, not fessing up earlier. When Tommy said you liked Carol?”

Billy bullies Steve onto his back before planting a cheek on his chest. Steve blows the stray curls that tickle the corner of his mouth away.

“I don’t like Carol.”

“...Really? Because you stare at her a lot.”

“No I don’t.”

“You stare a lot, Billy—”

“I stare at everybody.” He gestures with the arm nearest Steve’s side. Speaks with it twisting and pushing shapes around in the air above them, casting shadows in the already dark room. “I wasn’t staring at Carol. It was Carol and Tommy.”

“So you are jealous?”

Billy’s hand tenses, spasms into a fist that thumps Steve on the chest. He wheezes lightly as Billy settles into stillness once again.

“I’m _not_ jealous, I’m—you—Never mind. Stop being annoying as hell, Harrington.”

Steve feels uneasy about the whole thing still. Something nagging inside him doesn’t want to let it go.

“Okay. I believe you.” They don’t say anything for a while. Then Steve adds, “Were you jealous that Tommy got his first kiss before you did?”

Billy doesn’t say anything which Steve knows to mean he’s trying not to lie. Billy’s a bad liar.

“It’s okay. I haven’t kissed a girl either.”

Billy’s hand twitches against his stomach, curls over his side. “Really?”

Steve smiles to the ceiling. “Nope. Truth be told, I’m kind of freaking out about Tina asking me to the dance.”

“She made you look like a pussy,” Billy says softly.

“I’m _not_ a pussy. She just asked me first is all. I was going to ask the week before the dance.”

“It’s months away.”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

Billy pokes him. “Loud. So what, are you jealous of Tommy?”

“No? I’m—maybe I am? I don’t know—” Steve presses his palms into his eyes and rubs hard. “I don’t want to mess it up.”

“How can you mess up kissing?”

Steve takes his hands away. Tilts his head to look at his friend. Billy’s got his eyes open and is looking at him. He lifts up on his elbow and quirks a brow. “You’ve seen plenty of flicks where there’s kissing. It’s easy.”

“You don’t know that.”

Billy glowers. “I know it looks fun, not scary.”

Steve lets free a tiny whine of a sound. “I just wish there was, I don’t know, a girl I could ask to practice with or something.”

“What?”

“Like practice kissing? But it would have to be with a girl who wouldn’t care. Like Barb or something.”

“Why would Barb not care?”

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know. I was just thinking--just throwing ideas out there. God, I’m gonna mess up. I’ll probably bite her or something.”

“So what, you want me to find you a doll to practice kissing on?”

Steve pushes himself up, hissing out, “No! No, no, no way, oh my god. I meant _with_ , Billy. How am I supposed to get it right if I don’t know how to do it... _with_ someone.”

“I’m confused. You went from kissing to doing it. What step are we at here, tiger?”

Steve shoves his friend. Billy laughs at him.

“Stop your groaning,” Billy orders, still laughing. He wipes his hands on his legs. “What if we practiced?”

Steve levels him a dark look. “That’s what I literally just said, idiot.”

“No,” Billy says, then wipes his hands again. He laces his fingers over his knees before planting his palms flat on the mattress. “Just don’t laugh at me for saying this, but, but what if— _we_ —practiced—together?”

“Huh?”

Billy fists the sheet. “We kiss each other and it’s practice, fair and square. Nothing weird about it. Just so we know what we’re doing when we kiss girls.”

Steve watches Billy fidget.

“Isn’t that...kind of gay?” Steve whispers the word because it’s not a word he says in the house. He knows it's bad. It’s Tommy’s favorite.

Billy won’t meet his eyes. He’s never not looked Steve in the eye. “It’s just _practice_ , Harrington,” he spits out. “Like _you_ said. Do you want help or not?”

“Well I didn’t mean—”

Billy goes dead still. Steve wonders at it, at him. Even goes as far as to shake him a little.

Billy blinks and snaps to life. Snatches the blankets off and starts for the window.

“I’m going home,” Billy says in a shuddering voice. Steve thinks maybe he might be crying he’s so embarrassed. Billy’s never cried in front of Steve before. “Sorry I said anything.”

“Billy.” Steve gets up and hurries to grab his friend’s wrist. “You’re in your underwear. It’s freezing outside.”

Billy yanks his hand free. “So?”

“ _Fine_ ,” Steve hears himself say. “Fine, but you won’t tell Tommy?”

“I won’t say shit. This is just to help you.”

“Okay.”

Billy glances at him too fast for Steve to get a read on him. “This was _your_ bright idea, Harrington.”

“Come on,” Steve says, whispers. He hates seeing Billy cry. It’s frightening. “It’s a good idea, really. This way it won’t count. Because we’re not girls.”

Billy follows him back to the bed, back to where Steve lifts the covers and settles down and pulls his knees to his chest. Billy mirrors him.

“Right. It won’t count,” Billy echoes.

“Right.”

“So.”

“So.”

“Steve, quit it.”

“Sorry. I’m nervous.”

“Well, stop it. It’s just me.”

“Just you,” Steve says. Billy nods. His eyes shine even in the dark. Steve swallows so hard his throat clicks. “So what do we do?”

Billy snorts. It seems to surprise him. “I, uh. Just.” He frowns. Leans forward and presses his lips to Steve’s.

“Oh.”

“Like that,” Billy tells him.

Steve swallows again. His lips are very dry so he licks them. Then he leans in and does the same thing Billy did, just for longer. Billy tenses and relaxes. Makes a weird choking sound.

Steve pulls away. “What happened, what did I do wrong?”

Billy shakes his head. Coughs into the sheet. “Nothing. Nothing, got a tickle in my throat. Maybe kind of hard to breathe. Or something.”

“Oh.”

“Want to try again?”

Steve thinks yes, he wants to try it a lot. Says, “One more, then bed?”

“Yeah. I have to be up early anyway.”

Billy always says some variation of the same, every time. Steve knows his dad and his new stepmom don’t like him sleeping over at friends’ houses anymore.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Will you come back?” Steve asks, because somehow he’s suddenly afraid of something.

Billy nods. “Don’t I always?”

“You do.”

Billy nods and inches forward. Looks at Steve’s mouth, he thinks. “One more.”

This time when Billy leans in, it’s for a long time, and Steve feels a little like it’s melting. That single place where their mouths meet. His cheeks are warm and he feels fluttery, a little dizzy and out of breath. He wonders if kissing is supposed to make you sick to your stomach or if it’s the beer from earlier.

“Better,” Billy comments.

When he wakes up, his window is cracked and Billy’s clothes are gone.

The sun is out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silly Steve, thinking he got turnt off one beer.


	3. part iii: wince, flinch

Steve has been fifteen for a month.

He rubs at his cheeks but can’t stop grinning.

“What are you so happy about?” Billy asks him when he comes back downstairs.

The party is getting loud. Maybe a little too loud. But his house is tucked near the edge of the woods, and Hawkins has always been a quiet town, secluded. His parents are in Indianapolis for the week for counselling, so he knows he’s in the clear. Still, there’s a part of him that wonders what the breaking point will be.

Billy’s wearing his new leather jacket. It’s black, squeaks loudly when he moves. He twirls his keys around his index finger, showing off the fact he can now not only drive, but officially has wheels. The Camaro was secondhand, but nice, and nobody had to know as far as Billy was concerned.

Steve helped him paint his new car just last week. They did it at Steve’s place, because Billy doesn’t like staying too long at his dad’s.

Hard to shake Max, Billy always adds. The kid is like a cancer, he sometimes tacks on at the end. Maybe when he’s especially pissed off.

Steve holds up his hands, gives up hiding how much his cheeks hurt from stretching. “Get this.”

“Oh boy,” Billy says, totally unexcited.

“I just got  _ laid _ .”

Billy’s keys fly off his finger and hit Steve in the neck. Steve winces and catches them before they fall to the floor. Billy snatches them back.

“Pretty boy just had sex?” Billy states, narrowing his eyes. “Seriously?”

After rubbing the sting from his neck, Steve puts his hands in his pockets and leans in, nodding quickly.

“You popped her cherry?”

Steve nods again.

“You popped  _ your _ cherry?” Billy says, lowering his voice. Steve shoves him. Only then does Billy grin. “You fucking king. How many times did you go?”

Just the once, Steve thinks. “Like three times. It was so--Billy it was, nice.”

“Nice. Yeah, sure.” He waggles his eyebrows. “How long you last?”

He finished halfway through the first thrust, but Billy doesn’t need to know that. Ever. “Twenty minutes.”

“No fucking way.” Billy’s eyes go wide. “Really?”

“I--”

Tommy chooses that moment to push between them, drunk and dribbling beer down his chin. “My dudes,” he slurs. “My buddies, my  _ pals _ \--come on, come do the kie--the key--the--”

“Keg stand,” Steve offers.

Tommy nods, shuts his eyes. “Bingo.”

Tommy loops an arm around Steve’s shoulders and leads him to the back yard.

Steve looks over his shoulder, to where Billy stays put, keys gripped in a fist.

“I’ll see you--”

“Later,” Billy finishes. He smiles, but it’s short lived. He turns and disappears into the crowd.

Steve breaks his keg stand record.

He’s on top of the world tonight.

\--

“I’m gonna throw up,” Steve mumbles later once everyone is gone. He begins heaving into the air.

Billy goes, “Fuckin’ gross, at least aim for the garbage.” Holds up the basket for him.

It’s wire. With holes. Steve thinks Billy’s trying to be funny. He gets up and tails it to the bathroom. He greets the keg he swallowed down in the tub. Says “I hate me,” and falls back on his ass on the tile.

Billy finds him a few minutes later. “Again, fucking. Gross.” It doesn’t stop him from cleaning Steve--and his mess--up.

As Billy is shepherding him from the edge of the tub to the bed, Steve hangs his head, presses his nose against Billy’s warm neck.

“Tina was nice,” he mumbles. “So nice to me.”

“Nice is one way to put it,” Billy says. Starts tucking him in.

“I’m not that drunk.”

“Oh, yes you are.”

“Come here. Stay over. You said you would.”

“I didn’t.”

“Stay over anyway.” Then, “Your dad doesn’t care.”

Billy gets angry. He gets angry fast. He gets angry a lot faster than he used to these days.

Steve pouts. “You know what I mean. I want you here tonight. What if I drown in my own vomit?”

“Then you’d deserve it. I’m at least getting you some fucking water.” And Billy leaves to do just that.

Steve busies himself with changing into sweats and sobering up. He slaps and pinches at his cheeks. Thinks of Tina turning away when he went to kiss her and how he got her cheek instead. How she giggled when he finished early and he felt so--so  _ humiliated _ . He couldn’t even be a good first time for her and make her have a good time too. He had to go and do...that. Peeling off the condom and trying to tie it after that had been a fumble. He ended up digging into the trash when she was in the bathroom after and checking he did it right.

Some king.

“Ugh.”

“Sounds about right.” Billy reappears with two white pills and a glass of ice water. Steve swallows them without asking what they are. He can trust Billy. “Drink it all.” Then he disappears again.

Steve drinks it all and lies back and tries to think about anything other than how awful he was. He’s not good at sex. He probably won’t ever be good at sex. Tina definitely won’t ever let him near her again. She laughed. Laughed. He’s an idiot. He couldn’t even figure out how to do it right at first. It was a weird kind of push and roll happening and it was so  _ good _ , and  _ fun _ , and then it didn’t seem to be really doing anything for her--seemed like maybe it kind of hurt for a while. He didn’t ask. But then he did--did  _ that _ , and she  _ laughed _ , and he couldn’t even tie the damn condom right and--

“Steve,” Billy mutters from nearby. Steve sighs. “What’s up? You’re not a sad drunk. This isn’t you. Tommy hurt your feelings or some shit?”

The bed dips, his stomach dips with it for a dangerous moment, and then it’s Billy and his stuffy cologne, missing his new jacket, lying next to him.

“You’ve had sex, right?” Steve asks the ceiling.

Billy hums. “Yeah.”

“You never really told me about it.”

He feels Billy shrug. “Nothing to tell, really.”

“But it was your first time, wasn’t it?” Steve swallows, swallows again. Blinks rapidly. “It’s supposed to mean something, right?” Steve blinks again. Shuts his eyes. “Because I don’t think my first time was as great as I thought it’d be.”

Steve takes a deep, steadying breath. Billy shrugs and this time when he’s settled, he’s pressed closer than before. His shoulder is a wall holding Steve up. He relies on it.

“My first time was some girl from church camp last summer.”

“I still can’t believe your dad made you do that.”

“It’s three weeks I pretend never happened. Anyway.” Billy shrugs again. “She had a thing for me. Found me outside the bunks one night and we just...did it.”

“Just like that? Outside?”

“Well, yeah, kind of. She pushed me against the wall and undid my pants, and just--hell, Harrington, do I really have to explain everything?”

Steve sniffs. “No...I guess not.” He sniffs again before turning on his side to face his friend. Billy is staring off somewhere by Steve’s desk.

“I lied earlier.”

“No shit.”

“It lasted like less than a minute and I messed up the rubber and--”

“Don’t tell me it broke. You about to have a little Harrington running around, that why you’re blubbering like a fucking dolphin over there?”

Steve punches Billy in the arm. Billy grins, but the edges are still soft. Teasing.

“ _ No _ . I just--I’m not  _ good _ at it.”

“Not good at sex?”

Steve shuts his eyes again. Turns over onto his stomach to hide his face in his pillow. He hears Billy’s quiet laughter, feels it bounce the bed faintly.

“Oh, hold on. Don’t tell me you had sex right here and didn’t change the sheets?”

Steve lifts his head. “It was in the guest room.”

Billy hums. “I would have guessed your parents--”

“No. Just...no. What the hell, Billy?”

Steve flops back down and groans.

He can feel Billy shifting around. A hand lands on his back. Squeezes the muscles of his neck. All at once, the tension begins draining from his shoulders.

“First times always suck. It doesn’t always have to mean something. Mine didn’t mean shit. So what, you’re not supposed to marry Tina. Who cares? Unless that’s what you were aiming for?”

Steve reaches up and digs his hands under the pillow, sighs as Billy keeps squeezing the base of his neck. Digs his knuckles into the top of Steve’s spine.

“Why’re you so good at that?”

“I’m good at everything.” Then, “What’re you talking about now?”

“The neck thing you’re doing. That.”

Billy stalls. Then he starts up again.

“You never rub your own legs after basketball or running or whatever? It keeps cramps from happening but it just helps you relax, too. I can stop if you want.”

“No!” Steve flattens out. “No way. Keep going.”

Billy starts a word but cuts himself off. Steve wonders what he was about to say.

“You’ll meet another girl. Hell, I know Tina will do it again in a heartbeat.”

Steve turns his head away from the pillow and asks, “You really think?”

“I know.” After a pause, he adds, “She’s always watching you. Always trying to get your attention on her. Always trying to get you to touch her. Be around her.” Billy removes his hands. Steve turns the other way to meet Billy’s eyes, and finds him shrugging down, sinking against Steve’s headboard with his shoulders hunched. “I just mean she’ll jump at a chance to meet up again.”

“You really think?”

“You sound like a parrot.” Billy sighs. Looks at his hands in his lap. “You’re you, man. What do you want me to say?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Billy scoffs. “You’re  _ Steve Harrington _ , in case you haven’t noticed.”

“And?”

Billy scoffs again, adds a disbelieving little laugh.

Steve braces himself on his elbows. Says sternly, “Billy.”

“Half the school wants you. The other half wants to be you.” Billy shrugs. “That’s what I meant. You won’t have any problems getting plenty of practice in before you land your very own Jeannie.”

He watches Billy put his hands behind his head and sink further down into the bed.

“So you’re saying I’m so popular I’ll need to find a genie bottle to get a wife?”

Billy rolls his eyes. “You  _ would _ latch onto that.”

“It doesn’t make any  _ sense _ , Billy--”

“Christ, Harrington! Just take my word for once, will you? It’s not like it’s hard getting around in a town this small. Everybody’s bored. Trust the system.”

Steve frowns. “Wait. You’ve had sex more than once?”

Billy stares at Steve’s desk. His jaw leaps. “Yeah.”

Steve supports his chin on a palm. “How many times?” Steve quiets. “And with  _ who _ ?”

Another roll of his eyes and Billy’s reaching over to turn out the light.

“Don’t--don’t, hey!” Steve cries. “Sorry, okay? I just--she didn’t want to even kiss me. I don’t see how she’ll give me a second chance. And once that gets around school, I don’t see how anybody will.”

“Steve,” Billy sighs. He rubs his hands down his face. “Just watch, on Monday everybody--wait. She didn’t want to kiss you?”

Steve shakes his head, no. Billy looks insulted.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know?”

“Well, fucking walk me through it. What happened?”

“I...seriously?” Billy nods. “Okay...well. I like, was on top of--her, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And I...was like...inside--”

Billy waves that away. “Skip to the kiss.”

“I leaned down and went to kiss her and she turned away and I got her...cheek, okay? I kissed her cheek. Then she laughed.”

“She laughed at you?”

“Well, not at me but…” At Billy’s dark expression, Steve amended, “Yeah. At me.”

“Bitch. That was not her first time.”

“What?”

“Bet you ten dollars that was not her first time.” He holds a hand up when Steve tries to argue. “We’ll find out and when we do, you better have a ten on you.”

“I...just don’t think…”

“Good. Don’t want you to hurt that pretty little brain of yours thinking too much.”

Steve turns onto his back again. “You know I can’t--You know I hate it when people call me stupid.”

It gets Billy sighing, heavy. “I didn’t say you were stupid. I do know you get your feelings hurt too easy, though. Don’t waste it on her. She’s not worth it.”

Steve vaguely remembers something Billy told him before. About love not being worth it. He wonders if Billy thinks the same now, or if that changed somewhere along the way.

“It’s not about her...not really.”

“Then what is it, Steve?”

Steve wonders how it was for Billy, on his own at church camp. The guy could barely pick up a bible, so imagining him there had been the butt of endless jokes over that summer. But Billy had met that girl. Had had sex with her. Had probably--

“Did you kiss that girl from camp?”

Billy’s bicep twitches. He lowers one hand to scratch at his cheek. “No. Wasn’t really a kissing situation.”

“Why?”

“She went down on me for like two seconds. I didn’t want to kiss her after that. Anyway--Why are you so concerned with it?"

“I--”

“Does it matter?”

Steve bristles. “I guess it doesn’t. Just...remember when we said practice would help? I like kissing, and I guess I’m just bummed that I didn’t get to...do that earlier. I must be drunk still, or maybe not, maybe I’m just tired. Yeah, I’m beat. I’m gonna turn in now. Night.”

Steve flips over, facing away from Billy. Then he realizes the lamp is on his side and the light will only turn off, will hide Steve from his embarrassment, if Billy decides to pull the chain himself.

“You’re acting like a real fucking bitch, you know that?”

“No I’m not.”

“Acting like one and pouting like one too.” Billy’s hand finds his arm. Shakes him back and forth. “You’re acting like a chick who didn’t finish her first time and didn’t have rose petals everywhere like she wanted.”

“Billy.”

“You’re being a pussy, Harrington. Man up.”

“Hargrove--”

Steve turns over and sits up so fast, his head spins. Billy’s grinning sharky and mean and amused. Steve takes his pillow and hits Billy in the face with it. Billy grabs it and throws it to the floor.

Then he’s tackling Steve until he’s flat on his back on the bed. Billy’s curls halo his face. He’s grinning still, still just as mean as ever. Billy loves to rile him up and Steve sometimes can’t stand it. Not even a little.

“Get the hell off me, Hargrove.”

“Oh, baby Stevie’s mad I called him a pussy.” Billy slaps at his cheek lightly. “Pussy.”

“Hargrove.”

“Pussy.”

Steve bats his slapping hand away. It finds his cheek again like a magnet.

“Puss--”

“Fuck you! Fuck off if you think it’s fucking lame I wanted to have a special first time, okay? I’ve thought about it a lot, and I wanted it to be perfect for the both of us, and now I went and fucked it up, and if that makes me a goddamn pussy, then I’m a goddamn pussy, okay? Okay! Good night!”

Billy lowers his hand. It braces on the bed by Steve’s ear. Catches and pulls on his hair a little. He winces, and pulls himself free. Billy’s expression has cleared to the friend he knows. Maybe a little sadder than usual.

“I...I had a little too much to drink,” Billy finally says. “I--sorry. I’m sorry, Steve. Really. For all of it. But really, first times suck. Ask anybody.”

“Just go.”

Billy looks wounded for all of an instant. He doesn’t move. “Mine was awkward and weird. We didn’t even have a condom. I was a fucking idiot about it, and it still wasn’t great.”

“Yeah?’

“Yeah.”

“Did the other times get better?”

“What do you think?”

“They did?”

Billy sighs. Nods a little. Hair falls over his cheek. He pulls a strand from his lips. “Sure they did.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. So, will you suck it up and let me stay over, or what?”

He blinks and gives in, because when it’s Billy he always does. “Don’t you always?”

“‘Course I do.”

Billy lets up and strips his shirt off. He stands to shrug out of his jeans. Catches his briefs before they slip too far down his ass. Steve catches the edge of a dark bruise around his side before the light is turned off.

Steve feels queasy still. When he turns back over, he focuses on Billy’s weight behind him, the slow pace of his breathing. Tries to keep his sniffles quiet, because Billy’s right there and will probably make fun of him again.

He never does.

\--

“Steve,” comes Billy’s voice sometime later. “Steve, you up?”

Steve exhales. Pinches the sleep from his eyes. “Now I am.”

“Oh. I had an idea.”

“What time is it?”

Steve squints, tries to see his alarm clock as he turns and looks over Billy’s head.

Billy says, “Four. I have to go soon, but I was thinking.”

Steve sighs. Falls back in bed. “Yeah? About how much I have to clean up after you leave before my parents get back?”

“I was thinking it doesn’t count.”

“Huh?”

“Since it’s us. Since I’m not Tina, and you’re not--you’re just you. It doesn’t count if we--if we practice.” Billy turns to face him, even though Steve can’t really make out his face yet in the dark. “ _ Right _ ?”

His heart rate picks up. “Right. Yeah, that’s right.”

“Right.” Billy’s looking a little more clear, a lot more defined as he chews on his lower lip, Steve sees his brows pull up, furrow before he says, “So why not practice now.”

“For...what?”

“For next time. So when you kiss whatever girl’s lucky enough to be getting picked by King Steve Harrington, she can tell the whole school he knows what he’s doing. It’ll build your reputation. Tina won’t be able to say shit.”

His pulse thumps. “That...makes a lot of sense, actually.”

“I know.”

“Tina won’t be able to say shit.”

Billy’s lips turn up. “Nobody will.”

Steve huffs. Billy inches closer. His breath is hot as it puffs against his face.

Steve feels less queasy then he had, but his hands sweat. He twists his fingers in the sheet underneath them for leverage, to hide it, for some way to ground himself. This feels apart from what he did earlier that night. With Tina.

Feels weird. Different. Because it’s Billy.

“Sure,” Steve murmurs. “Why not?”

Billy lunges forward and smacks their mouths together. Their teeth click hard and Steve reels back, going, “Ow! Christ, Billy! Are you trying to headbutt me?”

Billy giggles, maybe nervously. “Harrington, that was  _ not _ all me--” But when he next leans in, it’s a slower approach. A steady incline instead of a damn rocket launch.

Steve still flinches when their lips first brush. Billy breathes out hotly, their lips tickling from such scant distance. Steve closes it, presses into the touch firmly, seeking more, wanting more. Billy obliging.

Steve embarrasses himself. He makes a quiet little sound. It feels good. Better. But it doesn’t count, so that’s okay. That makes it okay.

Billy doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t seem to mind much. Actually decides to cup Steve’s cheek and pull him back in, and this time his lips are open and Steve sucks in the smallest amount of air before Billy’s tongue is touching along his lips, opening them, pushing inside. It’s wet, maybe too wet. Steve pulls away and wipes his mouth. Not far enough that Billy’s hand ever leaves his face.

A thumb strokes near his ear. “Okay?”

Steve nods. “Yeah,” he says. He’s breathless. He can’t catch his breath. Why’s everything feel so hot? “Yeah, just peachy.”

Another brush of his cheek, a sweep down his chin. Billy smiles and pats his neck before settling back in for bed.

“Thanks,” Steve says, because he doesn’t really know what else to say.

“Any time,” Billy says, and his pulse might thump thump leap out of his skin. “And by the way, Tina doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

“You think?”

A laugh drifts over, soft and airy, a touch too breathy. “Go to sleep, Steve.”

Steve tries. He’s too focused on the fact he’s kind of hard and Billy made him hard and he’s in bed behind Steve and it  _ doesn’t count _ . He squeezes his eyes shut and counts sheep trying to will it away. Eventually it works.

He at least pretends to be asleep when Billy finally has to get up and sneak back home.


	4. interlude i: red omens

It’s his sixteenth birthday.

He hasn’t seen Billy all day.

And, truthfully, Steve’s kind of fucking pissed.

They’d had plans to meet up at the quarry at five minutes to midnight. Steve would bring the beer, which he did, because his dad still didn’t notice when his only son raided the fridge for excess alcohol. Billy would bring the tunes, because Billy was the music guy, the go getter, the one with the tangled mullet who headbanged to solos hard enough to knock his brain stem loose. Hard enough to worry Steve he actually, one day, might.

They were going to sit at the edge of the cliff and drink and ring in the new day. Steve’s day.

He has snickerdoodles.

He’d made them himself this year because his mom was still on _retreat_ in Cologne. The one where she went last month for four days to get _established_.

Onboarded.

She’d be gone for a while.

So, Steve baked himself cookies.

And they’re burnt and a little too hard, maybe way too hard and very crunchy, but he made them and wants Billy to try them. To be here with him.

On his sixteenth goddamn birthday.

It’s half past one.

Steve contemplates tossing the cookies into the dark abyss. Contemplates, for an instant, tossing himself. Laughs out huffy and bitter before drawing his knees to his chest to wrap his arms around them, to hang his head in the dark nook. Safe. Hidden away.

He sniffles.

The rumble of a familiar engine cuts off twenty minutes later and Steve is an ice cube. Certified frozen. His teeth clamp and chatter as he swivels stiffly around to confirm the site of the Camaro. It sits parked sideways in the gravel beside Steve’s BMW. A birthday gift from his dad, who couldn’t bother to fly back from his business trip in Spain to gift it in person.

Steve kind of hates it.

Hates what it represents. The family he never sees anymore.

Maybe he can just drive the car into the quarry and kill two birds with one stone. Three, even.

Then again...maybe he shouldn’t have started early on the drinking.

He sighs when the headlights don’t flick off. They haze and buzz in the cold night air, lingering like eerie fog. Steve gets up and walks over, dutiful and determined to figure out what the hell Billy’s problem is, being so late.

Steve already has a hand poised to point accusingly to go along with some sort of accusing comment before Billy’s door fully opens—and open it does. And then...nothing. No Billy.

Just an open door and a dark silhouette in the driver’s seat that Steve can’t make out behind the headlights.

He squints. Raises a hand to shield his eyes. No luck.

“Billy?” No response. The shadows slumps. “If this is your idea of a joke, it’s not funny. It’s freaky as hell.”

The shadow spills out of sight and then Steve sees a blur of bare arms and golden curls as Billy falls to the ground.

Steve freezes. He can’t move. Did Billy...die? But he just drove—he can’t—maybe he’s hurt, maybe he’s—

Steve runs to Billy’s car and finds him slumped on his side in the gravel, eyes red and cheeks wet, blood smeared over his face and neck and shirt and—

“Jesus, Billy. What the hell happened? Who did this to you?”

He looks like he just got mugged. No jacket. Shirt ripped to shreds half down his chest.

Billy mumbles something slurred. Raises a hand up and knocks a light brush of knuckles across Steve’s chin. They’re split open and red.

A sweep of his eyes and Steve sees Billy isn’t wearing any shoes. One sock.

What the hell?

Another mumble draws his attention back to his hurt friend in his arms, head effectively cradled on his thighs.

Billy flashes a weak smile. Dopey. Bloody.

Missing a front tooth.

Steve blinks away ridiculous tears. Billy’s fine. He’s fine. He’s alive in Steve’s arms and he’s not sure why he’s worried about any other outcome but he _is_ and he’s going to be _sick_ and he—

Steve turns off to the side, coughing. Gagging a little.

Knuckles find his chin again. His cheek.

“Happy birthday, pretty boy,” Billy rasps out, his voice scratchy and rough before he passes out.

\--

“I don’t know what happened,” Steve says into the receiver. He clutches it to his face with both hands, his eyes still locked on Billy’s bloody form on his couch. “He just showed up like, like he is and I didn’t know if I should call you or take him to the hospital or—”

Chief Hopper makes a shushing sound on the other end of the line. “You did the right thing, kid. Your folks in town?”

“No.”

“Okay. You said you had to leave your car by the quarry? You know how far down you parked?”

Steve sniffs. “Just at that top pull-off. The one with the sandbank to keep cars from going over? It’s new, like days old for my birthday, and if my dad finds out I just ditched it he’ll kill me.”

There’s a groan and a chuckle from the couch. Billy is bent halfway over the edge with his head hanging over the magazine rack.

He starts vomiting.

Steve winces.

The chief says, “I’ll have one of the guys pick it up and tow it over before the morning. I’ll drop by in the morning to take an official report. For now, keep him resting. He’s not throwing up blood, is he?”

Steve startles. He didn’t know that was even a thing.

“Uh,” he says. “Hold on let me check.”

Billy is grimacing at the mess he made. The magazine rack is a bust. Steve will have to replace them before his mother notices.

When Billy sits up and squints at Steve, as if tlhe can’t really make him out, Steve sees no new blood. He says, “No. He’s not.”

Billy’s frown deepens.

“Good. Take him to the hospital if that changes. Try to get some sleep.”

“Will do. Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

The chief hums, says goodbye, hangs up.

Steve is left with the drone of silence. He hangs the phone up. Billy is glaring at him.

“You called the fucking pigs?”

Steve hurries over to Billy, hands going to his shoulders to shove him, gently, to the pillow so he can lay flat. Billy scowls up at him like he just kicked him in the crotch or something.

“Have you even seen yourself?”

Billy doesn’t answer the question. He looks off to the side, somewhere over Steve’s shoulder. The tip of his pink tongue pops out to run over his lips.

“You’re missing a tooth.”

“And you’re missing more than a few brain cells.”

Steve laughs breathlessly. “What the hell happened, Billy?”

Billy tongues at the gap. It’s not bleeding anymore from the looks of it, but it is _gone_. His chin is already bruised where it wasn’t before, and Steve feels his stomach lurch just wondering at the possibilities.

Who could have done such a thing?

Steve sighs when Billy refuses to say anything more. He gets up and jogs between the kitchen, the living room where Billy is set up, and the bathroom in an effort to get Billy whatever he might need. Pills, water, towels, extra pillows and blankets.

He’s staring at pain pill labels from his mom’s stash, trying to figure out what one big word means compared to another, when Billy mumbles something.

Steve lowers the bottle. “What? What was that, Billy?”

Billy won’t look at him still. He’s buried under the blanket Steve dug out from the winter closet, his hair a mess. The place where his lip is split starts bleeding all over again as Billy chews at it.

“Oh. I said, uh. Kiss me and I'll tell." He pauses, chews fresh blood from his lip. "Bad joke, that's all. You gonna let me wash this shit off or what?”

Steve raises an eyebrow but lets it slide. Billy’s moods are fragile lately, and even though he wants to push and pry and get the truth out of him, Steve knows it’s probably not worth the effort just now.

Billy usually tells him anyway. Just later on.

“Sure. Yeah, here.”

Steve gets a wet wash cloth and crouches on the floor by Billy’s face.

When the edge of the cloth touches Billy’s swollen cheek, he flinches. Says, “I can do this part you know.”

Steve ignores him and does it anyway.

“You can be a real son of a bitch sometimes,” Steve informs his friend while he swipes carefully at his blood streaked face.

His mouth is especially sensitive. Billy hisses and clenches his teeth as Steve drags the material across his mouth. After that it’s easy sailing. Broad stripes down his neck, the ripped collar of his shirt.

“Is there...are you bleeding anywhere else?”

“Like where, genius?” Billy snaps, and Steve tries to ignore it.

“Your—anywhere I can’t see?”

Something in Billy’s hard expression cracks. He sits up again to hook his fingers under his shirt. He winces and groans and Steve takes the hint. He gets Billy’s shirt up and off him without complaint.

He’s a rainbow of colors from his sternum to his belt. Red and purple and blue.

Steve can’t catch his breath.

“...Steve?”

He can’t breathe.

Billy’s been—he’s hurt so—and he _still_ showed up—

“Steve!” Billy barks. It gets Steve’s eyes dragging from his torso to his face. Blue eyes big, all concern above raised hands. Like Steve is some kind of spooked animal he has to calm. “Steve, you gotta breathe.”

“I—you—I didn’t—Billy, I—”

Steve can’t breathe. He falls back on his haunches, then his ass. He feels shaky. Unsteady. When he pushes himself up, the farthest he gets is a couple inches from the floor before he’s back to sitting.

Everything is spinning.

Billy is a circular blur of gold and red and tan and Steve feels like he’s the one about to be sick.

“Count with me,” Billy is saying. “Count, okay? One, two, three, four, inhale.” Steve inhales, shaky and jerky. “Exhale, five, six, seven, eight...good. Do it again, asshole.”

Steve does, echoing Billy.

He does it again and again and again. Does it until he closes his eyes and there are hands on his neck and his face and he’s still shaky and then Billy isn’t counting anymore with him, but his mouth is pressed against his cheek like it’s another bit of practice. But it’s not. It’s not.

Steve blinks. The fog clears and it’s Billy in front of him on the floor. “You—get back on the couch.”

Billy shakes his head. “You okay?”

“I...I don’t know. Don’t know what that was.”

Billy’s mouth opens. Shuts. His thumbs rub circles against Steve’s cheeks.

“Panic attack, babe,” he murmurs, chasing the shakes from Steve’s skin with such easy touches. “You trying to kill me over here?”

“Why? I, no I—wait—tell me who did this to you. Billy this is so— _so_ messed up.”

Billy’s voice, his face, give nothing away as he says, “My dad.”

Steve gags on nothing. Wretches for a second or two and he’s embarrassed, because like, what the _fuck_ but Billy doesn’t go anywhere. Just keeps rubbing and rubbing and rubbing.

Steve meets his eyes.

“I’ll fucking kill him.”

And Billy laughs.

“Nice dream, birthday boy. Just...let’s watch a movie or something, yeah? Let me forget for a while before the morning comes.”

Steve is helpless but to do just that.

But first, he gets Billy one of his old shirts.

He sits on the floor by Billy’s head until it hits seven in the morning, listening to Billy’s breathing and his pained winces in sleep until a knock sounds on the front door.

It’s Hopper.


	5. interlude ii: red pill

Hopper knocks again.

Steve bites his lip and turns to catch the last few peaceful moments he’ll have of watching Billy sleep.

He’s stained pink in places. His bottom lip is crusted over with a black scab. He mumbles in his sleep sometimes, like now, and Steve almost asks him what he means.

“What’re you dreaming about, tough stuff?” Steve watches Billy mumble a while longer. Then he sighs and rises to let Hopper in.

“Hey kid, morning.” The chief peers over his shoulder to look inside. It’s dark and cold. Steve gets a chill the more his own bones wake up. “Can I come in?”

“Oh. Yeah, yeah come on.”

Hopper nods, tipping the brim of his hat. He steps quietly, sweeping appraising eyes over Steve’s parents’ home.

“Think you might want to turn the heater up a smidge?”

Steve shivers. “Uh, my dad’s not big on spending money on excess heat.”

Hopper’s thick brow turns down. “Turn the heat on, kid.”

Steve goes to twist the thermostat up. High.

When he comes back, Billy’s sitting up on his elbows, hair a mess and blinking slowly at the chief standing nearby.

“How about you give us ten minutes?” Hopper asks, aiming the question Steve’s way. “Go get yourself together. I’ll take you boys out for breakfast after. How’s that sound?”

“I want to stay,” Steve says. “I’m staying. I want to know what the hell happened too. I--”

“Kid, sometimes things like this…”

“I don’t care!” Steve’s just watching Billy. Eyes caught like worms in the mouth of a fish.

His friend is hurt and--

“Harrington, fuck off a while. I’m fine.”

Hopper sighs. Takes his hat off.

Billy glares. He meets Steve’s eyes and nods and that’s what makes Steve go in the end.

—

Steve goes into the bathroom, turns the shower on and wets his hair a little. Then he tiptoes back to the opening of the stairs to listen in.

It’s Hopper talking. “...This makes the third time now, kid. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“I can fucking handle myself,” Billy snaps, low and upset. When Billy gets quiet that’s not great. Steve’s come to learn that typically happens right before some kid at school gets a bloody nose.

“Hargrove. You clearly can’t. I’m telling you I can--”

A pillow whizzes by into Steve’s eyeline of the lower floor. It clips the edge of one of his mom’s ugly lamps and it’s only saved from breaking when Hopper dashes in to catch it. He rights it and sends a withering look Billy’s way.

Then he glances upstairs, and he locks eyes with Steve.

And he doesn’t say a thing.

Just goes back to talking to Billy like they’re still alone.

“If you’re not wanting the city to press charges on your behalf--and since you’re a minor I have the authority to do that, remember--this will keep happening. I’m already stretching my rope here, keeping things running your way, but that bastard can’t keep doing this, kid. Don’t make me live with that.”

“I don’t care about you.” Billy groans, makes a pained grunt. “And what happens to the brat, huh? What happens to me? I get bounced around like a goddamned potato until what? I run away? Because I will. I’ll fuckin’ run every time.”

A tendon in Hopper’s neck pops out. Then he’s walking closer to Billy, where Steve can’t see.

It’s a strain to hear them then.

“I know you don’t want to leave Hawkins. But if it means you don’t get hurt anymore…”

“I can handle my fucking dad!” Billy yells and Hopper sighs again and Steve feels his blood pressure dip.

He sways. Plants a foot on the first step down, but rethinks the benefit of bursting downstairs and joining the conversation. It wouldn’t go well.

He can’t keep listening to this.

Steve goes back to the bathroom. Makes a lot of noise about it. Runs into his bedroom and changes into jeans and a sweater and runs back down the stairs, his hands in his hair to make it look like he’s at work styling it.

He doesn’t care. He just wants the conversation to stop. He wants to get Billy alone, away from cops and his dad, and--god, his own  _ dad _ \--

They’re staring at him.

“So, breakfast!” Steve crows.

It works better than he thought it would.

\--

Breakfast at Benny’s is, to say the least, awkward.

Billy won’t speak or look at either of them. Keeps his eyes trained on his plate of eggs and bacon and sausage. He starts in on Steve’s pancakes halfway through and Steve doesn’t have the heart to tell him they’re not even his, technically.

Hopper eats as he watches Billy eat.

Steve’s about to lose his damn mind.

“Will somebody say something? What happened?”

“Will you quit asking about shit that doesn’t concern you?” Billy says, pointing his fork. Ran into a tree.”

“Your car was fine.”

“Ran into a tree with my face. I was drunk.”

“No, you weren’t. You--”

“Steve,” Billy murmurs. Steve falls quiet. Feels Billy’s thigh press against his. It stays there. His eyes are shining. “Please.”

He swallows the words he wants to spit out. To demand.

It hurts. Billy’s leg by his doesn’t. Sends chills against the fire under his skin.

Hopper speaks around a mouthful of toast. “Eat up. It’s free food.”

“No it’s not.”

“For you two it is.” Hopper raises an eyebrow until they both start up again. “I think Billy here should hang around your house for a couple days, Harrington. How’s that sound?”

“That’s--”

“Sounds just great,” Billy cuts in.

Billy shoves his leg. Steve swallows his tongue and hates every second of it.

\--

They eat and drink and watch movies and swim and don’t talk about the night of Steve’s sixteenth birthday. Don’t even bring up the quarry.

Steve’s happy to pretend it never happened so long as Billy never has a rainbow of bruises against his skin again.

Billy heals and laughs and sleeps in Steve’s bed and he feels like the kid with a new neighbor all over again, for a little while.

Billy gets a call after school a few days later. His face gives nothing away. He only says, “Okay,” at the very end of the call before hanging the phone back on the wall.

They play ball.

They eat dinner.

They do homework and listen to music that Billy likes and has been trying to get Steve into for a few months now.

And Steve decides he’s a fan. And Billy smiles so big, whoops so loud, and smacks a wet kiss on Steve’s cheek just like that and Steve’s face tingles for hours.

Until they fall asleep. As they dream.

Until Steve wakes up alone. Until it feels like being splashed with freezing water.

He panics, because Hopper told him to stick around. He doesn’t know if Billy went back to his house, maybe ran into his dad, or--or all the terrifying maybes Steve has spent every second since the quarry trying not to think about and--

And he doesn’t see Billy again for six months.


	6. interlude iii: wake up

Steve’s never had a problem with girls.

He’s never had a problem with keeping them around either, because he doesn’t need to. Hook ups are just that, hooking up, having a good time, parting ways without any strings attached. No harm done. No broken hearts on Steve Harrington’s watch.

He prefers it that way.

“You’re like, seventeen already, right?” Carol asks in his general direction. She’s perched on Tommy’s lap in the backseat of the Beamer. They’re looking at the liquor store kind of like they’re getting ready to rob it, but he doesn’t want to bring that up. “You look totally old enough. You’ll get through, no prob.”

Steve bites his lip as Carol and Tommy titter among each other behind him. It’s like a nest of bugs scraping behind walls. They’re annoying him more and more.

“I’m only sixteen and a half,” he reminds her, moving on from biting to chewing.

She scoffs. “Close enough!”

“You shave too,” Tommy tells him.

Steve frowns.

Tina exits the liquor store, stack of bright pink flyers in hand, a cigarette dangling out of her mouth before she’s fully through the door.

“Woah.”

“Wait here,” Steve says and scrambles to meet Tina on the sidewalk before she can get too far.

Steve’s never had a problem with girls.

They’re easy.

He pops a hip and leans down, close, in her space. A flush spread pretty pink and fast across her cheeks, her nose. She’s got these freckles in the right light. He thinks people should pay more attention to them.

She blows smoke in his face, he coughs. She apologizes again and again, hands him a flyer, touches his arm, rubs his arm, squeezes his fingers before hooking her pinky with his while he convinces her she should grab them a six pack of beer.

“Oh, Steve,” she coos, “Come to my party and you won’t need a silly six pack.”

“Why?”

She cocks an eyebrow at him and smirks. “Come to my party tonight. I have a keg.” She meets his eyes, stands on the tips of her sneakers to press a peck to the corner of his mouth. “And a  _ very _ nice bedroom. But you know that.”

And Steve smiles. And Steve promises to see her soon.

And so it goes.

\--

They spend the rest of the afternoon smoking through a box of reds and lounging at his pool until it’s time to hit the road to Tina’s.

They stop to get gas, because between scoping out the liquor store and heading back to smoke the hours away, Steve forgot.

He’s just turning around, trying to stuff change back into his wallet, when he bumps into a girl. She squeaks on impact. Looks up at him with almost terrified brown eyes. She’s with Barb.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you there!”

“Oh, no. Totally my fault,” the girl says, waving him off. She takes a prim step back and smoothes down her long navy skirt.

Barb is glaring at him.

“Hey Barb.”

“Steve.”

“I don’t think we--”

“Nancy Wheeler,” Nancy Wheeler informs him before proffering her hand. They shake and she holds his hand firm and solid, like a man would. She probably shakes hands like Steve’s dad wishes he did. “You’re Steve Harrington. You’re on the basketball team.”

Barb gives her friend a strange look this time.

“Oh, yep. Yeah, that I am. A few months now. I’m still on the bench a lot.”

Nancy nods erratically. Ducks her head shyly. Steve thinks she’s pretty.

Barb steers her friend toward the register. “See you in class, Steve.”

Steve feels a little windswept. Pushes a hand through his hair. Says his goodbyes and leaves.

There’s a rumble of an engine he thinks he knows--he misses, he mistakes--but then it’s gone and all he can think about is the keg he’s sure to dominate just like he always does, every time.

\--

He’s drunk.

He’s beaten his record for the keg stand.

The crowd is cheering Harrington and Steve is drunk and feeling good, feeling sloshy, feeling seen and hidden all at once.

And then his world screams to a halt because Billy Hargrove appears before him for the first time in six months, and he’s got his favorite leather jacket on, and he’s a little taller and he’s--

Really, really pissed.

Or something.

Man, he’s drunk. Steve’s too drunk. He laughs.

The phantom in front of him doesn’t laugh.

Steve reaches out and pokes his chest. He doesn’t give. It’s a body in front of him, all right. A body wearing a phantom’s face. The face of the boy who was his best friend, his--the one who abandoned him.

And phantom Billy, he says, “Look who the cat fuckin’ dragged in.”

And Tommy laughs like a little beast beside him, and Steve feels ill.

“I could say the same about you,” Steve slurs back, feels good about it.

Billy’s stoic. More stoic than Steve’s ever seen him, under all that anger on his face. Acting like this, acting drunk like he is,  _ being _ drunk like he is--it would have had Billy annoyed, teasing. Not whatever kind of hate he’s wearing now.

“Six months. Twelve hours.”

Something flashes behind those blue eyes and then like a blur, he’s gone. The night goes on.

And so it goes.

\--

Later, Steve finally finds him again. Billy. Real and in the flesh. High def. Lit up bright and vivid like some kind of MTV special.

Late night for sure.

He’s arguing across the room with a girl Steve kind of recognizes. The longer he stares the closer they seem, and Steve realizes he’s been pushing his way to get over to them. To confront. To ask and rib and bark and hug. To--

“I wasn’t even in your way,” the girl is saying. “And yet somehow, you  _ still _ managed to spill my drink on my friend.”

“Your friend,” Billy laughs. “Sure.”

The girl scowls. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re an asshole.”

Billy sneers. Laughs cruel and short and as unkind as Steve’s ever heard him. “Whatever you say, dyke.”

And the girl freezes. And it’s Billy who turns and sees Steve standing there, a deer in headlights.

And Steve’s stupid and drunk and mad, so mad, but mostly he’s--he’s heartbroken. And he hasn’t seen his best friend in six months and he might have maybe spent more than one night alone in bed, thinking Billy might have died. And what would he have done then? How could he have gone on?

It’s relief and sorrow, holding Billy’s eyes now.

Because of all of it, because of so many other things, all Steve can bring himself to say is, “I missed you.”

And just like before, with the girl, Billy sneers and laughs and snorts and says, and says--

“Don’t be such a fucking faggot, Harrington.”

And walks off.

Steve and the girl are left in his wake, still, not knowing what to do next.

Only--Steve’s brain kicks in a second later, a second faster.

It’s like sobriety sinks into his bones all at once. Ice water. So much of it, all over again, like he’s waking up alone for a second time and not the thousandth. Or however many mornings six months adds up to.

Steve turns.

And he catches up to Billy as he swaggers mean, unseeing, uncompassionate--

Steve’s never had a problem with a lot of things in his life. His parents, sure. Figuring out how to operate daily life mainly on his own, yeah, okay. Billy Hargrove, his best friend, the one he still thinks about feeling tingles over--he’s been a six month long problem that’s just presented its own solution.

So maybe, yeah, a lot of things have been easy, while so few haven’t.

Billy’s become one of the more difficult, painful ones.

But this, now--it’s easier than a lot of things he can think of doing.

So Steve raises his fist and--


	7. part iv: not real

Billy’s blood on his knuckles is colder than he thought it’d be.

His own blood is warm. A bloom of heat starting from his sinuses down to his throat, his heart. He’s on the floor and Billy is straddling him, is hitting him, is pummeling him through the fog of alcohol and anger that Steve doesn’t have the first clue to beginning to understand.

Billy’s pouring fire into him and he can’t catch a breath. He covers his face, can’t when Billy pries his hands away. There’s a crowd now, ogling and cheering and _oohing_ and _ahhing_. Rejoicing in seeing their keg king beat bloody. Steve can’t breathe, can’t cover his face to try to, so he turns away. Focuses on the heels of one of the girls who clap and chant and laugh and howl and--

And he says, “Billy, Billy stop--”

Because Billy is his best friend.

And he missed Billy so badly.

He’s spent so long hurting, he’s not sure why Billy wants to make him hurt even more and--

And he did throw the first punch, he realizes. Because he’s hurt and he’s mad and Billy, before a lot of things between them, always pisses him off.

Steve did this to himself.

But still, he says, “Stop.”

And Billy hesitates. Blue eyes clear for a moment while Steve gulps in air. They’ve done this before. Billy taught him how.

Billy hesitates, unsure. Steve’s still fucking pissed.

Steve gets his knuckles in Billy’s right eye and he goes down cursing.

Tommy and one of the guys from the basketball team jump in then, get their hands around him and Billy. Pull them away, apart, up and at ‘em. Up and away from.

Looking away from the spot on the floor Steve’s got his eyes trained on is hard. He knows he’ll probably do something stupid if he even looks at Billy right now. Might say something worse.

God, he hates Billy so much right now.

Tears prick at his eyes and Steve hates himself for _still_ being so affected. It’s been six months of moving on.

It wasn’t enough.

Steve retreats to the bathroom. Everything is still a little foggy, a little swimmy with drink. Everything hurts. His chest, his head, his hands. He pops his knuckles before gingerly touching his nose. It’s not broken, but it’s something.

\--

He’s sitting with his back against the tub, tissues stuffed up each nostril and stained red when the door bursts open.

Steve watches the phantom of Billy Hargrove go to the mirror over the sink, pull at his face and wince and start swearing under his breath.

Billy doesn’t see Steve as he prods at the damage to his reflection. Hasn’t seen the bruised and tearful boy sat on the floor. Billy’s already starting to bruise, and the sight has Steve remembering a rainbow of colors over his friend’s ribs and he feels sick. Looks away.

That’s not his reality anymore. He hopes it’s not Billy’s.

But it’s been six months. He doesn’t have the right to hope for anything anymore.

Steve gets the toe of his sneaker on the door. Kicks it closed.

Billy jumps it startles him so bad. He meets Steve’s eyes. Scoffs.

“Ready for round two?”

Steve reaches out and pulls on the worn cuff of Billy’s jeans. “No. Come here.”

Billy stares at him. At the tug on his leg, like some stray animal decided to chew on him. Looks like he doesn’t know whether he should kick it or pick it up.

He lets Steve keep tugging.

“You don’t want that.”

“Sit down, Billy.”

Billy doesn’t. Steve takes a shuddery breath in.

Billy sits down on the edge of the tub. Steve dips his head forward, catches his breath.

“Breathe, Harrington.”

Six months. Of nothing. Not a word. No call. Nothing.

“You’re just a ghost,” Steve whispers, choked up more than he’d like to let Billy witness. “You’re not real. This isn’t real.”

Everything hurts.

Fingers card through Steve’s hair, but at least it proves that ghosts are just as solid as anyone else still living, still around.

Not gone.

\--

Steve wakes up in his own bed around two. He waits until the next _ping_ _tink_ sound of a rock hitting his window comes. His heart does a little twinge before he realizes it’s still been six months and almost a full day and Billy throwing pebbles to come inside probably doesn’t mean what it used to.

Still.

Steve climbs out of bed. Goes to his window and slides it up. Sees Billy with his arm back to throw another before he drops the few rocks he still holds back to the ground.

They don’t say anything.

It’s been a few hours since they fought. Since the bathroom. Steve had left Billy sitting on the tub, felt fingers drag harsh through his hair as he got up and fled. Ditched Tommy and Carol and drove back home. He got into bed and forgot the world.

Until now.

A rush of breeze chills his bare chest. He’s in his briefs. He’s staring down a crossroads. Either he can shut the window and effectively tell Billy to go fuck himself, burn whatever remains are left over of the smoldering bridge between them. Or he can not do that.

Billy’s looking up at him. Waiting so well. Patient and neutral and quiet in spite of the hour and chill in the air and, well. Them.

Steve nods, sees Billy’s shoulders slump with a sigh, and goes back to bed. Listens to Billy scrape and crawl his way up the siding of the house until he’s grunting, climbing in, sliding the pane shut. Steve lies chilled to the bone over the comforter, facing away.

He can sense Billy just standing, just staring. At him, maybe. Most likely. Hopefully.

Billy lets out a soft _uh_ , followed by the creak of a step forward. Steve can feel him hovering.

“Can I?” Billy asks, voice muted.

Steve doesn’t turn to see what he means, what he’s asking for. At this point Steve will do anything just to have Billy in his orbit again. He’s tired of being a piece of rock circling a cold star.

He nods. The bed dips.

Billy lies behind him. He can tell Billy’s facing him by the hot puff of air against his nape. It sends a chill unbidden down his spine and he shivers.

Steve doesn’t know if Billy falls asleep, but he does. And he dreams.

—

“...the waves were so cold. Colder than I remember. Guess Indiana heat does that. Fucks with you, your head. Even takes the good memories and turns them inside out until you don’t recognize them.”

Billy’s talking and for a long, held breath, Steve thinks he’s still in a dream. That the Billy in his head is speaking to him and not the phantom from earlier. The leather wrapped lump behind him in his bed, like not a day passed and Steve’s never had to miss Billy a day in his life.

Billy’s talking. “When I first got back, it was nice. Hadn’t been down to the pier in years because of Neil. He hated it. Hated the noise, the smells, the people. Hated the sun and the sand too, probably. The son of a bitch sure knows how to hate.”

Something moves behind him. Behind his head. Steve huffs, feels Billy freeze. The movement starts up again and only after does Steve realize Billy’s got his fingers toying with the ends of his hair. Barely feels like anything at all.

Billy keeps going, talking even quieter. “My mom would always take me swimming off the pier even though it was dangerous. On the best days, when Neil was on call all week at the factory and couldn’t take off, she’d load up the car and drive just me and her all the way to Stinson. Now those were some decent waves. Caught a great one once. It was high as shit. Felt like flying. Same weekend I ended up wiping out so bad I skinned my knees bloody. Neil beat her until she couldn’t leave the house because she wasn’t watching me right. She’d been watching me just fine. I was the dumb shit who waded out too far. Got brought back in like a fucking tsunami…”

The fingers keep petting, smoothing, twirling. Billy’s presence has filled the room with the smell of cigarettes and whiskey and it’s stuffy and comforting and he falls back asleep.

—

In the morning, he’s alone. But a look out his window shows him the Camaro and Billy leaning against the hood smoking.

Steve pulls jeans and a new shirt on, squirts on his best cologne and runs downstairs.

Billy’s closing the front door when Steve skids to a halt.

He can’t just keep staring at Billy. He can’t. It’s weird.

But Billy’s staring too.

“You were in California?”

Billy blinks. “I needed some time.”

Steve vaguely recalls Billy talking about waves and the beach and what must have been California last night. He doesn’t remember much else.

He tugs at the ends of his hair. Billy traces the movement with his eyes. Meets Steve’s.

Billy approaches him. Puts on a smirk a shade away from sleazy. Looks weird on Billy’s usually laughing face.

“Why did you leave like that? You didn’t even call.”

Billy only stops when Steve is backed against the banister of the stairs. He folds an arm behind his back to squeeze the top until his fingers feel numb. Feigns casual with all the rest of his gangly body.

“You sound like a girl.”

Steve frowns. Decides to get right to the point.

“I thought your dad killed you.”

He expects something. Anger. Wide eyes. A sneer. A snarl. Something. Anything other than nothing, which is all Billy gives him.

It’s infuriating.

“I fucked around in California for a while. Got myself a girl and stayed longer than I thought I would.”

Steve feels the pit of his stomach give out.

“What?”

“Got myself a girl, weren’t you listening?” Billy snips.

“I...I thought—”

Billy toes the carpet. “She’s pretty cool. Gonna be moving out here soon so we can be together.” He puffs his chest out.

Steve deflates.

“She’s moving out here?” he asks, only slightly wild. “To _Hawkins_? Why?”

Billy snorts, sight fixed annoyingly on the carpet. “All its charm and it even wears on pretty boy King Steve? Huh.”

“Billy—”

“Yeah, she’s moving out here. Thought if it worked out I’d get a job and a place. Get away from my old man.”

Steve’s reeling.

“You—you’re not even eighteen!”

Billy just shrugs. Like it’s a nonissue.

“Stay here,” Steve hears himself say. He sounds terrified. He doesn’t want to sound terrified. “The guest room. My parents don’t care, they won’t even know. You can move away from Neil _now_ , just—”

Billy rubs at his chin. Steve sees stubble.

“Hold your horses. You’re sounding like you’re sweet on me.”

It’s said as a jeer. Because Billy laughs when he says it and it’s mean, it is. So fucking mean.

But Steve’s heart thumps and he feels like running away, to the woods.

He _can’t_. Not like that.

“No,” he mutters, trying for anger instead of shame. Instead of shock and terror because suddenly everything he ever knew just got flipped upside down and he only just saw Billy again for the first time in half a year _last night_.

Too much to drink, maybe. Hopefully.

“No,” Steve repeats. “I just didn’t think you were the type of guy to marry a girl to get out of your dad’s place.”

“Whoa, nobody said I'm marrying her. And please, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. We never even _talked_ about Neil. You don’t—”

“I know you—”

“—know shit!” Billy finishes in a shout and it’s his turn to steam, red in the face and embarrassed.

“Billy,” Steve says, holding his hands up. Billy crowds him back, gets in his face. Steve refuses to flinch. He’s not _Tommy_ . “One minute we’re talking to Hopper and figuring things out and the next you’re gone. For months. You just up and disappeared. Hopper wouldn’t even open a missing person’s case. You were just...just _gone_!”

“Missing pers—Seriously? I wasn’t missing, asshole. I was in—in California.”

“Did Hopper know?”

Billy pokes his chest. “Harrington, will you stop chatting my ear off with a million questions? I’m back.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“And I’m supposed to pretend you didn’t call me a fag in front of everybody last night, too, or what?”

Billy takes a step back. “I was drunk.”

“No you weren’t.”

“You were drunk.”

“Don’t recall ever calling myself names when I polish off a keg stand.”

“I was—look, Harrington— _Steve_ , don’t look so fucking pissy, Christ. I needed time. I’m back. Let me deal with my own bullshit, alright?”

“No.”

Billy groans, running his hands down his face. “I don’t get this. I don’t get you. What’s your fucking problem, man?”

He crosses his arms. They can’t keep doing this dance around...around whatever it is they’re dancing around. Steve’s tired. He’s mad. He’s missed Billy more than he can put into words.

And that last part is only starting to make sense.

“Fine. Fine, whatever. Welcome back.”

Billy glowers his way for a moment longer before the edge of a smile starts up. Blooms big and real and like the Billy that never called him a faggot, or looked at him like leaving didn’t mean shit.

Still. And still, he just wants to believe that Billy is back for good.

“Come on, let’s go take a drive? I’ll buy us some breakfast or burgers or something.” Billy ducks his head, smiles big and soft and full of everything Steve is suddenly hungry for in a way he somehow missed. "God man, your hair's a mess. Here." Billy gets his hands in Steve's fringe, pushes it back, brushes a sure and quick touch through to comb it into something better than whatever it was. His whole head tingles in the wake of Billy's hands.

Joke’s on him.

He goes.


End file.
